On My Way To Believing
by boundlesssummer
Summary: Seventeen year old Quinn Fabray is the star blazing the heart of McKinley High, and is in the final stage of a three year campaign to achieve her destiny and triumph as Prom Queen on election night. Rachel Berry, confused and lost, notices the secret beneath the crass blonde, and tries to dig deep down her emotions, and if Rachel puts a foot wrong, it's a long way to fall.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first Faberry fanfic, about Rachel identifying her sexuality and digging through Quinn to let her say the truth about her sexuality, because she's using Sam as a cover up of her lesbian sexuality so she can capture her rightful position as Prom Queen, and has some Brittana in it as well :)**

 **Pairings:**

 **Faberry(Quinn+Rachel)**

 **Fabrevans(Quinn+Sam)**

 **Brittana(Brittany+Santana)**

 **Finchel(Finn+Rachel)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters.**

 _And I'm on my way to believing_

 _~The Only Exception, Paramore_

 _I want to be prettier, thinner like that Quinn girl._

Rachel sighed as she sat in desolation as she was sitting in the mahogany chair, dejectedly thinking about the feelings and the connection Quinn and Sam had whenever they were near each other in public affection; she yearned for the love she lacked in her relationship, and the dawn of the realization was rather in darkness than radiance; Quinn had those photogenic looks, the beautiful strands of blonde hair that billowed in the gentle breeze, those winsome coaxingly hazel eyes, that flawless creamy vanilla skin and thick black eyeliner that made her look ravishing compared to the other Cheerios and her best friends, Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce, and it was intimidating lurking near her presence or even talking to her without all the student body watching her.

She had that sex appeal every girl envied and boy lusted for, partially dedicated to her residence in the Cheerios table, where the beautiful and the dangerous were confided with their equally popular male equivalent, and hers was someone with three percent body fat, luscious lips and flawless, glorious abs that had a dorky demeanor and was perfectly in sync with Quinn according with popularity, fashion, appeal to the study body, and respect that meant that they wouldn't be slushied by their counterpart Cheerio sisters and their barbarous, obnoxious counterpart Titan brothers, in which the little, loud-mouthed Jew had the opposite: she had the sex appeal of an endearing giraffe, her clique residential area was on the ''island of misfits and outcasts'', her boyfriend was a six-foot geek charming, they both synchronized in bizarre ways, and every day she was coated in a flavored saccharine slushie that would drip all over her bleached white socks and plaid skirt and polished brown schoolgirl, in which they would laugh and sneer in the horrid entertainment of seeing someone on the bottom of the high school food chain like Berry taste the bitter taste of humiliation dripping in her mouth.

So it resulted in her trying to gag all the disgusting vomit out of her, only to miserably fail and taste something even more disgusting than vomit: pain and self dissatisfaction. The guidance councilor, Miss Pillsbury, found her forcing herself to vomit, and mistakenly thought that this was bulimia. As if; it was more of an attempt to lose weight, to be more appealing to that Quinn girl and feel what it's like being… loved and wanted, instead of having to feel as if she isn't sexy, cute and youthful as she used to be.

''Mm-hm. And um, why is that?'' Miss Pillsbury asked, drumming her fingernails.

Rachel cleared her throat to analyse and tries to explain in a non elaborate of why she wanted to be Quinn's girl. ''Have you ever liked someone so much you wanna lock yourself in a room, turn on sad music and cry?''

She saw the bland expression on Miss Pillsbury's face and felt hope slip away, and saw Miss Pillsbury's eyes flicker outside the room and at Mr Schue, ignoring and waiting for her response.

''I see. Um-okay. Well, here's what I think. Common interests are the key to romance. All right? So find out what he likes. Then he'll see you in a positive way and maybe you'll end up doing something that you never would have expected.'' Hope rushes through Rachel's circularity system and nods, smiling hopefully and leaving the room. _Common interests are the key to romance, common interests are the key to romance, common interests are the key to romance._

 _Status is like currency._

* * *

Quinn was pleased to be part of such an exclusive set of malicious girls, because it _prevented others from getting close enough to hear what they're talking about._ Huddled together, the Cheerios were the top girls that discussed the principal conversation topics, such as sex in the Cheerios gossip, boys, parties, dates, everything to the last detail that represented them, including the most private elite of them all: the Unholy Trinity, which consisted mainly of the three most talked, most adorned and most popular girls in McKinley High: Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, and the beautiful nightmare of them all, Quinn Fabray. The blonde inherited the table from her older sister Frannie, who coincidentally was leader of a three-strong trinity clique named the Holy Trinity, in which they carved a three-point triangle with each Holy Trinity member's initial, so they updated with their one initials. It ensured that no lesser(which they call the unpopular students) would sit with them in error and it help avoid the stress of rushing to reserve the best spot, and it separated them from all the other Cheerios and jocks, since all were three dear best friends in a platonic way.

Beside her was her boyfriend Sam, in which she carved herself a special initial for(he was her male equivalent) which she had been given a beautiful, gorgeous purity ring, and it signified love and mutual respect and care for each other in the very least of situations, and she loved him dearly so: he was tall and broad, he was always tanned because his parents' divorce qualified him for twice as many foreign holidays as other people and his fair hair was bleached from the sun, and his athletic build was offset to soft blonde hair that curled around his ears, and serious brown eyes; eyes that she wanted to drown in, right from the moment they'd sing that lovely lullaby in Glee club a few weeks ago to make it official that they were dating. He was aesthetically pretty perfect(pretty _and_ perfect). He was quieter and more youthful than Finn, her ex, but he's sweeter too.

''Hey, Quinn,'' he said in such a strangely attractive way, even though it was meant to be said in a friendly tone. ''Wanna go Color Me Mine?''

Quinn rolled her eyes; although Sam was pretty perfect, he had such that dorky, childish demeanor, perhaps inherited from his Southern American ways, and a teddy fetish. ''No, I'd rather go to Breadstix, with Santana and Brittany, than be around some childish weirdos.''

''I love teddies,'' Brittany blurted out of the blue, and Quinn huffed. She knew that the blonde didn't have the critical intelligence of most normal people, but she was deciphering of why she had recruited the bony slim girl in the first place. _Probably because Santana's got these ''feelings'' for her._

Sam noticed that Quinn was picking at her fruit salad and frowned. ''Why aren't you eating you eating your food, Q?''

Quinn shook her blonde locks and sighed of his lack of information about popularity. Girls are more different-more self aware, more crippled by self-loathing, and the Cheerios are inane and immune to that, frankly because of their alluring, natural looks and foxy tone and sexual appeal that other girls on campus didn't inherit, and they had their own symbol, trademarked and never cheapened in compromise. Ever. And keeping a thin yet captivating and curvy figure is something every Cheerio must follow, it's a passage of fate ever since the school has been built up.

''Ooo, someone's smittening someone,'' Brittany giggled with Santana, glancing over the sea of equals, Quinn curious about what was so entertaining; as Head Cheerio and future potential Prom Queen, she wanted to be involved in principal conversation topics as well as generate the gossip, and as Prom Queen she needed to be in general with all the latest details from every single Cheerio, as they were her minions(they'd show ultimate respect) and she was the reigning Queen from generations of years from the Fabray tradition, and it was not to be broken this year.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. ''What are you talking about?'' she mumbled.

''Berry's checking you out,'' Santana frittered, and Quinn was enraged with flames as her hazel eyes set upon the girl that is Rachel Berry. To Quinn, she was that fly that ruined the perfection of her immaculate window glass which represented her life, and thanks to that, she's lost Finn, been slut-shamed around school, and now, her mother doesn't even acknowledge her; the only thing she notices is if you're shaped like a bottle of vodka or drugs, which left her to an addiction of drugs and alcohol intoxication, and Quinn's been depressed ever since. That's when Sam came along, she retraced the steps and promised never to fall down from grace again, and Rachel was a danger hazard and obstacle that Quinn vowed to cross over and move on.

Santana sees Quinn's face and must've mistakenly thought that Quinn was blushing. ''Look, Britt, Q's in lurrve!''

Quinn desperately wanted to seriously punch Santana in the face, but she didn't want to ruin her good girl image, so she had to sit and fairly be so rational instead of freaking out, similar to her mood swings during her crazy, mental breakdown. ''I'm not in love with Man Hands.''

''Yes you are, Quinn,'' Brittany agreed. ''You're all red and stuff.''

''Which means that you are in love, lesbo,'' Santana snickered nastily, making Quinn feel broken inside.

''Leave her alone,'' Sam defended, but he seemed to have the same opinion as Santana, which made Quinn irritated in frustration that her boyfriend couldn't even damn defend her, so she left, pushing her tray and flouncing off to the bathroom, dropping her heavy customized Cheerio bag of cosmetics and mirrors and beauty supplies, getting some eye-shadow and applying it on her face, perplexed of how she could actually love someone that's such a purist, conceited and egotistical as Rachel Barbara Berry, the school's Broadway freak, along with Kurt and rumour-has-it-his-perfect-handsome Warbler boy toy that he hangs around with except with Mercedes.

And then she stared at the mirror, disconsolate and lost.

 _Good girl image._

She's been raised to that manner ever since she first got christened, and ever since then her father's been pressuring her to like these listless, colorless father-approved boys from the church, from ones who weirdly stuff their shirts into their pants like senile men to ones who have dental appointments to fix their askew teeth and come out with horrible dentures, in which it messes up a makeout session if her lipgloss get in… the thought of it made her shiver in disgust.

Her sister Fanny didn't have that problem; she was gorgeous and beautiful, and Quinn was doubting the thought of ever becoming Prom Queen, as she was a miniature Frannie and knew that Frannie died during the election in an eerie mystery that had haunted her for her days, and the thought of dressing in Frannie's timeless blue gauzy layered dress and her hair styled elegantly in her sister's prom queen hairstyle, arm in arm with her man, was just spitting on Frannie's legacy. Besides, wasn't she already breaking the tradition by dating someone who wasn't in the Hudson family? That's why her mother Judy had planned them both to be together, only to revive on what happened to her adored, debonair daughter Frannie Fabray, that's why he was her pre-planned '' _inamorata_ '' during the Chastity Ball when she was staring freshman year? And now she was breaking the Fabray heritage by dating Sam, and her mother warned her that not dating Hudson could cause a series of problems, and bizarrely, her mother had spoken the truth.

''Fanny, can you hear me?'' Quinn spoke softly, praying that no-one was in the cubicles.

All she heard was the sound of sneakers and eager students rushing to lunch, until she heard the nasally, vibrant voice that Frannie had inherited from their mother when she was younger, and spoke: _Quinn, be very careful; something's going to happen, I can sense that someone is going to destroy your chances and ruin the Fabray tradition._

''How can I stop it?'' Quinn replied, seeking advice, but the voice was gone, and so was her hope. She left the girls' loos, grinning to her fellow students, but Frannie's voice was echoing inside her mind, which gave her a sense of pressure and dismay taking residence in her throat that told her that Frannie's advice was foretelling the horror of events.


	2. Chapter 2

A kiss is all Rachel's heart was tattooed on when Finn gave her an endearing, short, chaste kiss, and she grinned. Finn was her only love; dorky, lovable, occasionally rude, but nevertheless had a heart a gold.

''Hi, Rachel,'' he said in a platonic tone, and she was disappointed by how ''just friendly'' their relationship was. She'd seen the kisses the Cheerios exchanged with their boyfriends, and it reminded her of how her life was before: dangerous, playing by the rules, and being in the arms of someone who'd do something romantic, ugh, it made her feel middle-aged.

She had to break the verge of discontent and force herself a smile. ''Hello, Finn,'' she mumbled, giving him a kiss of displeasure, thankful that he didn't notice. ''Do you want to do some rehearsals after school for Sectionals?''

Rachel was excepting a definite yes, but was surprised when he looked doubtful. ''Rachel, I have football practice. Can't let my guard down.'' He gave her a useless sweet kiss that meant no interest of her, and left in the sea of students, Rachel enraged on the inside that not even her boyfriend found her somewhat asexual, _the nerve,_ so she opened her locker and sighed at the pictures hung on the walls.

The first was at freshman year, when she was cast adrift and sheepish, in a short skirt and knitted animal sweater, whilst everyone had already had friends, and that feeling made her downhearted. Sometimes she needed to pretend that everything was alright, when really she was dying inside, every day, and the feeling was getting stronger, something no surgeon or councilor can fix or replace. The second was at sophomore year, when she first joined Glee club, and she actually felt carefree and blithe about herself, even if it meant she had to tie down to a relationship and still have a slushie training bra, it was going to be OK.

Except that fate could be a little twisted sometimes.

After the summer, things had happened that Rachel had never wished to happen: Quinn got back on her heels, acted so selfish and found someone just as perfect as herself, this big-lipped Sam boy from the South, and Finn had started to be envious of her new boyfriend(she had seen the body language Finn had portrayed) and had irked her ever since the new power couple of Glee club had messed up her sophomore year's start.

And then was the little picture in the background, of her and Quinn, smiling, laughing, acting foolish around each other, Quinn doing adorable little snorts, and it made her depressed. What happened to that solid friendship? They could never re-do the contact they had a year ago, when Quinn was pregnant to Beth.

 _Unless…_

A small figure was approaching the brunette's way, with golden strands, eyes of caramel, and a Cheerios uniform, and Rachel had known who it was in an instant. Quinn. The close up of Quinn was like a smack in the mouth; she wasn't tall, but she was in a perfect height, even though she was smaller than any of the other girls, and because she liked the back row she used to sit on the comfortable chair to see the whiteboard and oversexualize herself. Her size was a huge part of her appeal, simultaneously making girls feel elephantine while boys were desperate to protect her. And the word _pretty_ didn't get close to describing her face any more than it did her most striking and enviable feature: her waist-length blonde hair.

It was hair that made other girls study L'Oréal commercials like documentaries; steal her shampoo; trail her down hallways for a closer look. It was hair that boys involuntarily reached out for; hair that hypnotized them into adoring submission; hair that they would have climbed towers or fought dragons or smashed themselves against for. And it was hair that she never, ever compromised or dyed or changed.

Those attributes aside, Rachel tried endlessly in those early days to figure out exactly what people couldn't resist. _She's only human,_ she thought repeatedly. _She must have good and bad features, just like everyone. And surely our imperfections-a cleft chin, a crooked nose- are what makes us interesting. Perfection doesn't exist._

Her enormous eyes slanted like a cat's and were endlessly hazel, darkening to a deep brown when she was upset or disapproving or angry, just like she was now, and she darted them up and down at Rachel. ''We need a girl talk, Man Hands.''

Rachel gulped her throat. ''About what?''

''That look you were giving me at lunch yesterday, that's what. You better not damn think you're in love with me.''

It recalled her of the longing look she was giving Fabray yesterday, and she realized that's what she was snapping about. ''Excuse me, but I don't have any romantic ulterior motives, I'm an honourable person, and me and Finn's relationship is thriving, for your information.'' She pushed past Quinn, but Quinn hissed and gave her a grimace that Rachel couldn't walk away from now.

''Don't walk away from me, Stubbles. Look, I'm in a relationship with Sam, whose my ticket for Prom Queen, so you better not damn get in the way.''

''Why would I do that? You're beautiful and pretty, and _I bet anyone would vote for a girl like you_.'' Rachel left her all alone, feeling that Quinn's eyes were appraising her, assessing her outfit, the hair, the back of her neck, her brain working overtime as she wondered whether to ignore, victimize or whether she constituted a sufficient threat for it to be in her interests to befriend her. Similar to the work that functioned all her relationships.

* * *

Quinn was incensed by the context of Rachel's words, flirtatious and exuding into her heart, and rushed to the girls loo, Santana and Brittany there, giggling and applying lipgloss to each other, whilst adding some foundation to their cheeks. She's known them both since freshman year, when all were vulnerable and Frannie was still around, and yet their friendship was more of ''Brittana'' featuring herself, partially because they go to parties together, do activities together and have this secret pinky thing that Quinn notices whenever she does her speech for Prom Queen in the gym.

She tips out her bag, showering in the table in lip glosses and sweatbands and crumpled pages, finding her cosmetics and starting to apply some eyeliner and an eyelash heater to lengthen her eyelashes. Santana sees Quinn's absence of talking and folds her arms, tightening her beautiful raven-black ponytail and raising her eyebrows.

''What's up, Fabray? Cat got your tongue?'' she mumbled.

Brittany gave Santana a look of innocence and giggled,''Lord Tubbington got my tongue once when he wanted the candy in my mouth.''

Santana snorted at Brittany's joke and replied,''Well? What's up, Q?''

''It's Berry-''

And immediately, they were cracking jokes about her being ''a homo'' and conversed about whether Quinn deserved to be in the Cheerios, or whether this would affect her chances of being Prom Queen, since she was campaigning and rooting for the glorious position, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

''What about Sam, Fabray? You gone tell him, huh?'' Santana frittered spitefully.

Quinn snapped,''She called me beautiful and pretty and it made me feel….different.'' This enforced formality took away the joy of the jokes and fires them both with renewed anger. Santana starts to talk about discomfiture and the acidity in the Lima community when it came to homosexuality, Brittany adding some pink peach lipstick and fixing her ponytail, Quinn sighing and wishing she didn't persuade Santana to follow politics so she could have the finance and diplomacy and economic business mind of a campaign manager, and wished that she could be more empathetic about this. The bell rang, Santana and Brittany leaving the school in pinky lock, so Quinn left the girls loo and went towards Sam, who was pushing weights in the gym, and Quinn blushed. She knew she didn't have feelings for Rachel: she was too egocentric and self-absorbed, definitely not the type of girl anyone would want to date, except for weird, wired Finn, her first love. Sam had a six pack glory and an unconditional, timeless love that Rachel couldn't replace, not ever, yet she felt different whenever Rachel complimented her, as if butterflies were gyrating in her stomach and her heart fluttered in the ribcage, as if it wanted to be set free instead of having to be so… oppressed.

She gave him this saccharine smile and coaxingly asked,''Hey babe. Can you drive me home?''

Quinn was excepting a yes, yet he shook his head and mumbled,''Sorry, babe. I'm pulling weights for this season-it's going to be tough.'' He didn't even have the time to say goodbye, just pulling those damn weights, and the blonde was unfuming with how discourteous he was; they were going to be Prom Queen and King, shouldn't be chivalrous and gallant to his beloved, beautiful, fetching Queen? She had to tread home, through all the overwhelmingly sweet fragrances of roses, from lilac to a crimson red, as crimson as Berry's red skirt…

 _Ugh, why did her skirt have to be red and so damn short? Why the desperation, Berry? If you want him so much, why don't you write ''desperate'' on your forehead with a Sharpie pen, then?_

She finally arrived at her house, and sighed as she smelt the drift of intoxicating alcohol, and a deep, throaty voice, belonging to her drunk mother's, and went inside. It was a home of plush cushions, a spacious hall, with memories hammered on walls and ornaments of childhood memories, such as her elephant and giraffe toy she played with when she was little(she'd cuddle them whenever she was depressed). On the couch, beside the coffee table, was her mother, beautiful yet crushed Judy Fabray, holding a bottle of alcohol, and she felt on the brim of tears rolling down her skin, waking her up to avoid any sorrow clouding her mind.

''Mom!'' she mumbled softly, refusing to cry. ''Mom!''

Her mother woke up, with her boundlessly blue summer eyes, and gets up, wearing a white Chanel suit and stilettos, icy, blonde, exactly like her, and Quinn shivered. Frannie had died, and Russell had gone away, leaving her mother with no one to cling onto but Quinn, and she had been on the vurge of alcohol intoxication ever since her so called girlfriends beckoned her to ''loosen her mind to forget the break up''. It was(for a few weeks) a saviour to prevent rehab, but that saviour was a demon in disguise, and now, she barely recognized anything unless it either had the shape, taste and effect of vodka and other alcoholic beverages, making Quinn just a void that she forget long ago.

She says in a slurred voice,''Hi, doll!'' she murmured softly, lisping slightly and hugging Quinn, trying to detect any body fat. As a Cheerio, Quinn had to be perfect, just like a Barbie doll, and the pressure patronized her, and Frannie saved her from it by… killing herself. She remembered it as if it were yesterday, Frannie jumping off their building estate, and her mother and her fighting…

 _Frannie was giggling, arm in arm with Luke Hudson, her love, gorgeous in a red silk Dior dress and high heels, lighting a cigarette, its smoke rising and she let out an exuberant laugh, more beautiful than I've ever known. I'm wearing a floaty butterfly dress, a hand me down from Frannie, and the effect unnerves me, knowing that I'm incapable of replacing her when I'm going to be a sophomore. The throne belonged to Frannie and it will forever be a sanctuary to her glorious triumph, and I shall just be a miniature amateur, seeming as I am her sister._

 _Mom beckons her to the beverages table in order to speak to her, and an argument starts._

 _Everyone in the party could hear the fighting as Frannie hisses,''What have you done to Quinn?''_

 _Mom crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek. ''Aren't you going to share your news with our guests?''_

 _Frannie looked from me to Luke, who watched her with his usual mix of adoration and agony. ''You should leave now,'' she said._

 _''OK,'' he replied faintly. ''I'll see you tomorrow.''_

 _She didn't relent. ''We can't be together anymore, Luke.''_

 _He was bewildered by her statement. ''But Frannie, I love you.''_

 _''I know you do. And that's why I can't speak to you again''_

 _Luke was like Finn, spiky and animated , and he held Frannie's hand as he begged her to reconsider. He seemed unaware of the other guests murmuring excuses and melting away around them. At twelve I could piece together the heartbreak from my memories of Mom's own erstwhile shrieks: Don't leave me, she'd begged as my father shut the door and drove away from us. Now, freed from the receiving end, she watched Frannie and Luke as impassively as if she were directing them in a play._

 _''You have free choice,'' Frannie said. ''Without me, you have everything. Don't you see?''_

 _Her expression crumpled as she looked at Mom's lack of consideration expression. ''How could you?''_

 _Mr Hudson hauled Luke out the house as Finn ran after them. I remained in front of all the food and drinks, watching my family break apart._

 _The connection that Frannie shared with my mother was notable for its invisibility. They never demonstrated closeness as I and Frannie did, with fingers and hair and speech so interwoven that we behaved as a single entity. They rarely touched, but their bond was nonetheless evident to me in the way they watched and circled each other as if observing a pull that allowed only so much distance between them._

 _I'd never seen Frannie angry with our mother, and nor had I seen our mother unnerved by Frannie; so while I may not understood this moment, I sensed its magnitude._

 _''You released him,'' Mom said, wary of behaviour that she had neither orchestrated nor approved. ''Why?''_

 _Frannie's voice was tight. ''You don't understand why?''_

 _''No. He doesn't want to be free!''_

 _''I released him because of what I've become. Because I finally understand what you've made me.''_

 _''Why are you speaking to me like this?'' Mom sounded taken aback._

 _''I'm speaking the way you taught me,'' Frannie told her. ''You like me to be cold.''_

 _''I don't like you to be cold to me!''_

 _''But you trained me so well that I can't discriminate,'' Frannie said. ''You trained me to break Luke's heart, and you succeeded. You can't blame me now if I break yours too.''_

 _''I wanted to protect you from the pain I suffered,'' Mom argued._

 _''But you made me heartless.'' Frannie held her head high, but her voice shook. ''You made me a weapon to carry out your revenge. Can't you see that I'd rather suffer pain than inflict it on others?''_

 _''I wanted to make you strong.'' Mom reached for Frannie's hand.''You can't deny that I succeeded.''_

 _Frannie stepped away from her. ''I'm alone,'' she said as a tear shone on her eyelashes and feel. ''I'm unable to feel love; unable to form attachments. Do you really think me a success?''_

 _''It's better this way,'' Mom said. ''You're better off like me, even if you can't see it yet.''_

 _There was a silence, and when Frannie spoke again her voice was soft. ''I still have time to change. I have my own mind, and I will never be like you.''_

That's when she rushed upstairs, her sash falling and she jumped, a scream of pain, as if the decision freed her from problems, being unloved, and the sash, including her beautiful, honourable, scintillating sapphire crown, was splattered in cerise blood...


End file.
